


Take Me (I’m Yours)

by petyrbaealish



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Dark Sansa, F/M, Halloween, sinning is winning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 14:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12278616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petyrbaealish/pseuds/petyrbaealish
Summary: Sansa has always lived free from sin, until a sudden awakening summons the Devil himself to her side. What's a girl to do, when she's fallen for the Prince of Darkness?A prompt for my 400 follower celebration on my tumblr @petyrbaealish. Winners received a Halloween themed one shot based on their prompt.For @janedethr whose prompt is as follows: "Oooh do i get the spot? Petyr is the actual devil and Sansa commit sins to become like him. OR Petyr is a vampire who has been creeping on Sansa since her youth. Either way, the creepier the better. Petyr's always been sort of gentleman in your fics so this should be fun to read from you lol. Anyway congrats on the 400 girl ♡"





	Take Me (I’m Yours)

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for attempted rape.

Sansa Stark had always been raised to be the perfect little lady, manners impeccable, appearance immaculate, record untarnished. While her siblings never seemed to go more than a day without getting into trouble, she’d never received so much as a reprimand from her parents, always the model of the angelic, dutiful daughter. This frequently put her at odds with her brothers and little sister, but she held her head high, rising above their bait, untouchable.

After seventeen years of such perfection, it was no wonder that when she finally cracked, showing the girl truly lurking beneath that mask of propriety, the Devil himself was summoned to her side.

The Devil took pleasure in corrupting the innocent, in drawing out the more sinful aspects of humanity, and Sansa Stark was ripe for the picking.

The day started out innocently enough, as she calmly worked through the homework her teachers had set her, before getting ready for her date with Joffrey Baratheon that evening. They had been out a few times already, and though Sansa had initially been enchanted with the boy, ensnared by his good looks, reputable family and ample wealth, he’d begun to lose some of his luster. Still, Sansa was loathe to disappoint her father, who was good friends with Joffrey’s father, Robert Baratheon, and always hinting that he’d love the opportunity to unite their families. Despite her misgivings, she kept agreeing to see Joffrey again, even as her heart and mind rebelled.

Joffrey had taken her to a drive-in theater, of all things, for a double feature of action movies that focused on explosive special effects, completely unrealistic fight scenes and scantily clad babes rather than plot or substance. Sansa sat stiffly in the seat next to him as he chugged beer from the six pack he’d sneaked inside and whooped loudly at the screen whenever there was an excess amount of carnage. He barely gave her a second glance until he grew bored during a rare lull in the supposedly heart pounding action, and decided he wanted to join the ranks of the top cliches for teenagers, pawing at her with unskilled hands as she tried not to gag on his beer soaked tongue.

She didn’t want this. Forget her years of maintaining the image of the perfect daughter, she wasn’t about to lose her virginity in a car at a drive-in with some crass action flick playing in the background. And she certainly wasn’t about to have sex for the first time with Joffrey Baratheon, who hadn’t a romantic bone in his body, let alone the finesse to make the moment special.

Sansa had standards, and this boy didn’t meet them by miles, even with his fancy car and family connections.

So when she tried to push him away, only to be further forced to suffer his disgusting attentions, (which now centered on the zipper of her shorts, his cock already out in anticipation) she did the only thing she could think of, to get him to stop.

As his tongue flopped around in her mouth, reminiscent of a dead fish, she gathered her resolve and bit down. Hard. Blood instantly filled her mouth, warm and metallic, and Joffrey began to scream before the sound was suddenly, sharply cut off.

In retrospect, she probably hadn’t needed to use such force.

Using the surprise as an advantage, she shoved Joffrey away from her and pushed open her door. Sansa stumbled out onto the grass and spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground, a slimy pink wedge of flesh joining the puddle. She stared down at the remnants of Joffrey’s tongue for a moment in vague curiosity, before wiping the blood from her mouth and turning back to the car.

He was still in the driver’s seat, passed out against the steering wheel, likely from a mix of shock, blood loss, and alcohol induced stupor. Sansa glared at him for a moment before making a decision and stalking over to the driver’s side door. She needed a ride home, and with it being Saturday night, the likelihood was that she wasn’t going to find one anytime soon.

Yanking open the door, Sansa grabbed Joffrey’s arm and pulled until he toppled out of his seat and onto the grass. No one was watching them, focus entirely on the movie rather than on their surroundings. More than likely, the level of noise the movie produced had swallowed Joffrey’s scream and her own cries to get him to stop before she’d taken matters into her own hands.

Thankful that at least the insipid movie had some uses, she quickly dragged Joffrey far enough away from the car so that she wouldn’t risk running over him, and got into the driver’s seat. Luckily, they were parked right on the aisle, and she could leave immediately. Not caring if she was leaving him to die, either from blood loss or the chance of being run over by one of the other cars, she turned the keys in the ignition and eased the car out of the space.

The drive-in was well on the outskirts of town, and as she navigated the narrow country roads, the weight of what had just happened finally hit her. She’d been moving almost on autopilot, since she’d first tasted Joffrey’s blood, and only now did she realize that something was wrong. Very wrong.

Where was her remorse? Sure, he’d likely been intending to rape her, but still. A good person wouldn’t have just left him there to die. Right? She should have at least called for help. Right?

And yet… And yet she didn’t want to. The windows were down, the cool summer breeze whipping through her hair and she felt free, startlingly, exhilaratingly free. Like her whole life she’d been smothering her true nature, only to finally let it gain the air to take its first, exquisite breath.

She’d acted in self defense. No one could blame her for what she’d done. She didn’t feel guilty for biting off Joffrey’s tongue, or for leaving him, even if he died. And she wasn’t a bad person for doing either, no matter what her mind tried to tell her otherwise. He’d been trying to rape her, and if she could excuse the actions of others in similar situations then she could excuse her own.

No, what gave her pause, what made her think something was horribly wrong with her, was that she had liked it. She liked knowing that she had hurt him. She had liked causing him pain.

And she’d do it again.

Heart pounding with this revelation, Sansa spotted a McDonald’s not far down the road and decided to pull over and try to gain some perspective. Her blood was pulsing through her veins at a dizzying pace, her thoughts fragmenting, and everything felt so incredibly overwhelming, her body and mind aching at the sudden assault.

She pulled into the parking lot and found an empty space, before switching the car off. Her hands fumbled with the keys absently as she tried to process this alarming new mindset, trembling at the onslaught of emotions roiling through her.

“That’s a lovely new shade you’re wearing.”

Sansa jumped in her seat, whirling to see a man seated next to her, in the passenger seat. A scream rent through her lungs, but though she felt it, the sound was stifled, no louder than a whisper.

The man chuckled, one corner of his mouth lifting in what was unmistakably a smirk. “Have no fear, sweetling. I have no wish to lose my tongue. Though I think you’d find my blood a far better adornment to those pretty little lips than that boy’s.”

His voice was quiet, the gravel in its timber scraping down her spine in a delicious shiver that she rather felt was quite odd, considering the circumstances. She gaped at him, watching dumbstruck as he leaned forward to lower the driver’s side vanity mirror. Her face was reflected in the glass, pale but for the blood red tint of her lips, and a thin trail that snaked down her chin, already dried. Sansa’s eyes widened and she lifted her hand to wipe away the evidence, flinching as she noticed the blood already smeared there. Gods, she looked a mess….

It was strange, how her disheveled appearance bothered her far more than the fact that another person’s pain was the cause.

Sansa swallowed, then turned back to face the man. He was watching her, gaze thoughtful, and though any normal person should have been frightened, by a stranger appearing in their car (well, Joffrey’s), and by the words he’d just spoken (who honestly said stuff like that?), she wasn’t. She bit her lip, then scowled in disgust as she tasted Joffrey’s blood afresh, a look that prompted another chuckle from the man.

In a blink he was offering her a bottle of water, though she hadn’t seen from whence it had come, and she took it gratefully. Normally she might have been wary to accept a drink from some random stranger, but the seal was unbroken, and she was desperate to rid herself of the lingering taste. She chugged it until she’d washed away the memory, eyes opening as she lowered it to see that the man was offering her a silk handkerchief.

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him. ”Surely you do not wish to ruin such fine fabric.”

The smirk returned and he reached for the bottle, tipping some water onto the expensive cloth. Before she could guess his intentions, he was lightly dabbing at her lips and chin, removing any trace he found of Joffrey’s blood. She stiffened under his attentions, her heart thundering, breaths uneven.

Suddenly she was all too aware of how striking he looked.

His hair was artfully messy, and dark, but for silver streaks at his temples that glinted in the moonlight. Stubble littered his cheeks and chin, and across his upper lip, peppered with grey. The planes of his face were sharp, and within his eyes was a hazy grey-green labyrinth that she was certain would take a lifetime to navigate. They called to her, begged her to slip into their depths, to discover the twisted mysteries beyond.

As his attentions shifted to her hand, her eyes ran the length of his body, taking in his finely tailored suit, the shine of his shoes, the dark green tie knotted at his throat. He was slim, and much older than her, likely around her mother’s age, though that hardly seemed to matter. The grey in his hair and the lines on his face only seemed to heighten his appeal, those gorgeous eyes reflecting an air of power, wealth, and danger. Intrigue.

There was no denying it. Whoever this man was, he was cloaked in sex appeal.

And she felt helpless to his charms.

Sansa hardly noticed when he’d finished cleaning the taint from her skin, only returning to her own body when her gaze caught her hand as he lifted it to his lips. It was a chaste kiss, a simple press to the back of her hand, and yet she felt it sizzle through her veins like lightning, pinging along every nerve ending. Startled, she jerked her hand free of his grasp and shrank back, more afraid of the heat he’d sparked inside of her than of the action itself.

“Who are you?” she stammered, wondering why she had not thought to ask the question before now.

He raised his eyebrows. “You do not know me?” His tone was amused, yet it was woven with an undercurrent of something she couldn’t quite define. Was he offended? Or was he mocking her?

Sansa shook her head, confused. “Should I?”

He studied her for a moment, then smirked again. “Perhaps not. Before tonight, we had little reason to become acquainted. You’ve led quite the honorable life, thus far. Always careful to abide by the rules, no matter how inconsequential. An exemplary citizen, daughter, sister, student, and so on, in all respects. Before tonight, you were hidden from me, wholly free from sin. And yet…” He paused, then stretched out a hand to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, before continuing, voice lowered to a murmur. “After such an entrance into my domain, I couldn’t help but take notice.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, unconsciously leaning into the palm that had strayed to her cheek, her eyes lowered, for fear that if she met his gaze she’d be sucked into the labyrinth.

He chuckled darkly. “I am the Prince of Darkness, King of the Ashes, of the Seven Hells, and of the Underworld. Some know me as Satan, or the Devil, or even Lucifer or Hades. But you, sweetling, may call me Petyr.”

Every fiber of her being told her that he spoke only the truth, and yet it seemed impossible. Sansa had always kept to the faith, subscribing to both the old gods and the new, for her parent’s sake. She believed in divine entities, that there was something beyond this life. She believed that the wicked were punished and the good rewarded, their souls sent for either eternal torment or eternal bliss after they left their mortal bodies.

But it seemed that her faith had been somewhat lacking until this point. Always, there had been a kernel of doubt, lingering there despite how she wished it otherwise. With little physical evidence to support the faith, it was hard to blindly succumb to it. Now, she had proof, and rather than bolster her confidence in the ideas of divine beings and life after death, she felt skeptical. This wasn’t normal. People didn’t just encounter the Devil in a parking lot at McDonald’s. She was hallucinating. She had to be.

Sansa slowly raised her gaze to meet his, deciding that if indeed this man was a hallucination, there wasn’t any harm to it. Their eyes locked and suddenly she was caught in his gaze, running along darkened pathways, flickers of past, present, and future accosting her at every turn. She knew everything, and nothing, and an awakening stirred in her heart, much like the one she’d experienced earlier that night. Knowledge surged through her veins, strengthening her bones, prickling along her skin, and she felt reborn, a new found power embroidered into the very fabric of her soul.

With a jolt, she came back to herself, trembling in her seat, against the hand still cupping her cheek. If this was a hallucination, she wasn’t sure she wanted to return to real life. “Take me,” she gasped. “I’m yours. Take me with you.”

Petyr shook his head. “Not yet, sweetling. This isn’t your time.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss against her cheek, a mere whisper from the corner of her mouth, then retreated. “Go home, and live your life. Make me proud.” He paused, eyes darkening, then added. “I’ll be watching.”

Sansa made to protest, but before she’d said more than word, he’d dissolved into darkness, and she was alone again. She stared at the space where he’d been, wondering again if she’d simply imagined the whole thing, mind reeling from the emotional rollercoaster the last hour had been. Was she going crazy? Or was she finally waking up to the world as it truly was, to the person she truly was?

If this was who she was meant to be, would she embrace it?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, Sansa was never certain how she’d managed to find her way home that night. She vaguely remembered pulling into the driveway, the way her mother had immediately known something was wrong. Hours spent at the police station, where they asked her to recount the encounter with Joffrey over and over again. Where she’d learned that Joffrey had indeed been found, and taken to a hospital, though he had little recollection of what had occurred and seemed too disoriented to do much of anything.

In the end, no charges had been pressed, on either side, both sides agreeing to such only to spare themselves. It wasn’t ideal, but Sansa knew it was the best they could hope for, considering the lawyers Joffrey’s mother (who insisted that Joffrey was innocent, and that Sansa had attacked him unprovoked) had employed. She was grateful that at least this meant that she’d no longer feel any obligation to make nice with Joffrey or his family.

After that night, she was never the same again. Her family passed it off as part of the trauma from what Joffrey had attempted, but Sansa knew better. That had only been the catalyst. She’d seen into her soul that night, and she was far from that perfect girl she’d always pretended to be. Courtesy was still her armour, but beneath that armour lurked a myriad of newly awakened sinful emotions, pride and greed, lust, envy, and wrath. She used her charms to her advantage, subtly manipulating people to get what she wanted. It became a little game for her, the risks higher each time she played.

Always within her thoughts was the man she’d met that night. Petyr haunted her dreams, his image imprinted beneath her eyelids every time they drifted closed. She wanted to see him again, desperately so, and as she came into herself, testing the limits of what she could and couldn’t get away with, she hoped that maybe she could draw him out again, with each new sin committed.

It wasn’t until six months later that she finally succeeded in her endeavours……

 

* * *

 

Sansa Stark….

Petyr liked the way her name slithered off of his tongue. It tasted so _sinful_.

Much like he imagined the girl herself might taste.

The night she’d bitten off part of that slimy prick’s tongue, she’d been revealed to Petyr, the thoughts running through her mind calling out to him like a beacon. It was always interesting, to know when the very first notable sin had been committed, the moment when a soul first registers on his radar. Most garner his notice quite early in life, well before they reached double digits, but there were a few exceptions. Sansa had been one of them.

At seventeen, she was a rarity, and oh, that in itself had sparked his curiosity. He’d delved deeper, learning her entire life’s history in an instant, and as much as her beauty captivated him, her mind left him breathless. Which he supposed might bear more weight if he’d actually had a mortal dependency on oxygen, but he wasn’t about to fuss about syntax.

This girl, this gorgeous girl, had spent over seventeen years diligently maintaining the appearance of someone that she most certainly was not. She’d restrained all of her natural instincts, burying them beneath the mask of a perfect person. Not knowing that by doing so, she was masking her own natural perfection.

And oh, she truly was perfect.

Petyr couldn’t blame himself for visiting her that night. He rarely made house calls, especially not to the newly awakened, but, for her, he made an exception.

When she’d asked him to take her, to bring her back with him, into the depths of Hell, he’d nearly granted her wish. He wanted her, every atom in her body calling to him, and she, oh yes, she wanted him too. But he was a patient man. She wasn’t quite ripe for the plucking. Not yet. First, she must grow into her own, realize her full potential. And he’d guide her along the way. Subtly, and out of sight. But still present. Until she was truly ready.

And then, only then, would he take her, and make her his queen.

Of course, the separation was far easier on him than it was for her. She saw him only when he slipped into her dreams, every night, but he saw her always. Always he watched her, noting her progress along the path he knew she was born to trek. Her highway, to become the Queen of the Underworld. Of Hell.

He watched her manipulate people, flaunting her sexuality or using her pretty little words to get what she wanted, always subtle enough that no one suspected anything amiss, and effective enough that her victims practically begged to do her bidding. As she turned eighteen and went off to college, she grew more daring, with far more freedom than before and a wealth of new targets. She blossomed quickly, almost exponentially so, and sooner than he’d thought possible, mere months later, she’d made herself worthy of another visit.

He’d watched as well, as she pleasured herself at night, crying out to him as she came. It was in those moments that his resolve to wait for the opportune moment weakened considerably, but still, he waited. Until one night, after spending the evening charming the boys in a rather seedy looking club into buying her drinks, lending her cash, promising to write her term paper, and the like, she went home, alone as usual, for she never let them touch her beyond what was necessary for a dance. Her dorm was among the nicer sort, with its own private bathroom and a relatively modern interior. The girl she shared the space with, absent, having gone home with one of Sansa’s castaways.

Petyr had spent the night in pent up frustration, loathe to see the unskilled and unworthy hands of her suitors slithering over her supple curves. When Sansa shed her tiny black dress and stepped into the shower, he reveled in the fact that he alone could see her like this, her bared form meant for no one but him.

Of course, he was used to watching her bathe, and though his pulse quickened at the sight, he was usually able to temper his need and refrain from joining her. Not so, tonight.

He watched as she smoothed a soapy loofah over her creamy skin, head thrown back, eyes closed, steam from the shower curling her damp hair, clouding his judgement. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth as she paused in her washing, one hand slipping down her chest, down her stomach, down down down, to rest between her thighs. And that was it.

The moment he snapped.

He’d hardly known his intentions before he was suddenly there, with her, still fully clothed and under the hot spray, her back against his chest, his hands on her waist. His nose buried in her hair. Sansa stiffened for a moment, then relaxed into his touch, somehow knowing that it was him, that she was safe.

“Finally,” she breathed, arching back against him as he smoothed his hands down her thighs, the water making her feel like silk against his skin.

Petyr pressed a kiss to her cheek, then moved to attack her neck as one of his hands found its home between her legs, the other rising to cup her bared breast. He felt, rather than heard, her sharp intake of breath, and he knew that the wetness along her slit was not born from the shower alone. Easily, he found her nub, rubbing the sensitive pearl with practice movements even as he nipped at her neck, pinched her nipple between thumb and forefinger.

Sansa shuddered against him, whimpering, bucking her hips to grind against his hand. When she came, his name tumbled from her lips, the sound like music to his ears, and she leaned against him, trembling, legs unsteady. Petyr pressed her closer, all but holding her upright, and plucked at her earlobe with tongue and teeth, before turning her in his arms. Her gaze, heavy lidded, yet still so captivating, caught his for only a moment before their lips finally met.

Still trembling from her orgasm, she clung to him, tasting so sweet, like the lemon drops she was so fond of, her tongue twining with his with increasing urgency. He hadn’t meant to come to her tonight, but he could hardly stop himself now. Months of tortuous waiting, and he finally had her in his arms, ready and willing, and who was he to deny her? She’d been waiting for him too, after all. She wanted this, had spent months delving further into sin in hopes of bringing him back to her, as he’d known she would.

They could have this one night, and she’d continue her journey. WIth each success he would provide a similar reward until finally, finally, she would be ready to join him below. To reign beside him, as his queen.

Knowing her, he wouldn’t have to wait long. His sweetling was quite the quick study.

Slowly she regained her strength in his arms, until she was pawing at him with equal ferocity. They backed underneath the spray, soaking him completely, but he hardly noticed as she divested him of his clothes, with rather more force than necessary. A pity, for he’d always liked that shirt. No matter, he was the Lord of the Underworld himself. He’d find a spare easily enough.

Sansa didn’t notice the scar traversing his torso, her lips glued to his, a fact which he was most grateful for. Time enough for that unpleasant tale later. Instead, once he was shed of his clothes, they pressed up against one another, unimpeded by his sordid past, one of her legs hitching around his waist as he traced her slit with his cock.

She was as of yet still a maiden, a virtue she’d kept for him and him alone to take, and when he’d breached that barrier, she bit back her pain, tears brimming in her eyes, clear blue oceans overflowing. But Petyr knew she’d wanted it, had reveled in this final act of sin, of giving her virginity to the Devil himself, and as the realization washed over them both, her lips curved impishly, pain forgotten.

Within seconds their mouths had collided once more and he was driving into her, stoking the flames inside of her, born of lust and the revels of sin impassioned, and he knew then that he’d been right, that he wouldn’t have to wait long, though he hadn’t quite imagined this little of a wait. She was ready now, to be his queen. Their coupling had sealed it. She was his, now and forever. And he was hers.

All rise, for the King and Queen of the Ashes. They would create such lovely Chaos together.

When they weren’t busy fucking, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it was abundantly clear that Sansa’s actions in driving away Joffrey weren’t what drew Petyr/the Devil to her, but the fact that it had given her a taste for violence/wickedness and a desire for more. Women should not be blamed for doing what it takes to defend themselves in situations like that, and I don’t consider that a sin. 
> 
> Hope you liked the fic, and that it put you in the mood for the upcoming holiday!


End file.
